It's The Season Of The Pawning Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

It's the season of the pawning.
And dusted treasures hoarded...
Are each polished leisurely.

Trinkets silver and gold,
Some trimmed in brass and copper...
Must now be sold.

Unloaded for pocket change.
'Cause these days aren't the same...
As they have been.
It has dawned on those in longing...
Belongings they once flaunted,
Can not remain!
Not with them.

That paycheck once so needed,
Has depleted from their hands...
And sent overseas.
The beast that once had fed them.
Seeks more greed.

It's the season of the pawning.
And dusted treasures hoarded...
Are each polished leisurely.

Trinkets silver and gold,
Some trimmed in brass and copper...
Must now be sold.

And those who laughed and jeered,
At those they denied and criticized...
Are now the ones in fear!
It appears they now feel anguished.
And hidden eyes can't stop their dripping tears.

Hoping to get quick dollars,
Are they who scream and holler...
'This is not fair! '

But as they once lifted noses,
Not one of them supposed...
One day they'd be stripped naked,
Of what had been theirs!

The caring of others...
Has vanished in the air!

It's the season of the pawning.
And dusted treasures hoarded...
Are left behind,
To find many folks like them...
In despair!

No one cares,
What is or is not fair!

It's the season of the pawning.
And those who laughed and jeered...
Now dropp to knees,
To drip from eyes...
Their flowing tears.